


When I Think About You (I Touch Myself)

by waitingforjudas



Series: Judas' Kinktober 2019 [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Autoanalingus, Autofellatio, Bodyswap, Kinktober, Kinktober 2019, Love Confessions, M/M, Mutual Pining, Porn with Feelings, Rimming, Sort Of, Stiles Stilinski Has Self-Esteem Issues, Voyeurism, auto ass licking, bad idea, don't try that, someone licks their own ass
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-02
Updated: 2019-10-02
Packaged: 2020-11-10 14:36:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20853401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/waitingforjudas/pseuds/waitingforjudas
Summary: After 11 days of Stiles having to stay within ten feet of Derek--and swapping bodies withDerek Hale--Stiles is, well. He's horny. And he misses being able to rim himself for an hour every night.When he lets that slips to Derek, though....Written for Kinktober 2019 prompts: Voyeurism, Rimming, and Bodyswap.





	When I Think About You (I Touch Myself)

**Author's Note:**

> This is a work of fiction--do not attempt to lick your own ass. Also, feelings happened again. I swear I'm trying to write porn. 
> 
> _Written for Kinktober 2019. Prompt list can be found at https://twitter.com/NihilistShiro/status/1162794889970511872._

So the idea of being in Derek’s body wasn’t exactly how the reality was playing out for Stiles. 

When he’d thought about being in Derek, he’d thought about being balls-deep in Derek. 

He’d really not ever considered the possibility that he’d be in Derek’s body and Derek would be in Stiles’ own. 

Thanks to a magical fuckup (on Stiles’ part, but he would deny it to his dying day) during training with Deaton, which may or may not have involved the spillage of several _potent_ herbs and plants, Stiles was trapped in Derek’s body. 

The first few minutes had been the worst, honestly. Mostly because he’d been halfway through Stiles Time (because _of course_ this spell had a delayed reaction) and then he’d been in Derek’s body, attempting a round thousand pushups, judged on not only how badly his—_Derek’s_ muscles ached, but also the little sheet with “1,000 pushups, 1,000 pull-ups, 1,000 sit-ups” written on it. 

The worst part of it wasn’t even that he was in Derek’s body or that they couldn’t go more than ten feet from each other without blacking out from pain. 

(The first half hour of the swap had been _miserable_ until Scott had stumbled upon “Stiles” writhing on the floor in agony and run him over to Derek’s loft in the hopes that he’d know something.)

The _worst_ part was that it had been 11 days and Stiles was still blue-balled. On the bright side, he didn’t have to look at Derek and all his muscles every time he looked at Derek—he just saw his own scrawny body (surprisingly graceful when Derek was in it) and plain brown eyes staring back at him. 

On the not-so-bright side, every time Stiles went to the bathroom or changed clothes, he had some not-so-fun things happen to his—_Derek’s_ body. 

Deaton had told them not to let themselves get used to referring to each others’ bodies as their own, but he’d said that on day one, not day eleven. 

And a half. 

And Stiles was going crazy because while they were relatively evenly splitting their time between the loft and Stiles’ house, every time they were in the loft, it was dizzingly hard to focus because of some _smell_. 

So forgive him if his filter is a little fucked up at the moment. 

“Dude,” Stiles said. 

“Don’t call me dude.” It came out muffled from where Derek was sprawled out in a heap on his bed. 

“Dude,” Stiles said again, just to get Derek to look up and shoot him a startingly menacing glare. He grinned, but it fell away as Derek glared at him harder. “Sorry,” he offered. “I don’t—I don’t mean to, you know. Upset you.”

Derek sighed heavily, the lines he’d dug into Stiles’ forehead easing a little. “I’m sorry. Too. It’s… a bad situation.”

“I know,” Stiles said. “Yeah, no, I get it, du—_Der_ek. Um.”

“Do you need to go somewhere?” Derek asked, and Stiles frowned. “You’re moving. A lot.”

Stiles flushed. He needed to go somewhere, yes, but mostly because he hadn’t come for eleven days and that was a new record since he figured out that he could masturbate in the first place. “I’m good,” he said. 

“No, you’re not. You’re almost bouncing off the walls, Stiles. Do you have to pee?”

And Derek had said that in _the _most patronizing voice that Stiles really couldn’t be faulted for what he said next. 

“No, I just want to be back in my own fucking body so that I can rim myself for like an hour and forget that any of this ever happened.” The moment the last word left his lips, Stiles turned bright red. He may have squeaked a little. “Forget I said that. Any of that. Ignore it. I’m just tired. I’m gonna take a nap right here, a great dirt nap, so sorry you’re not getting back in your body but I think you’ll find mine sufficient but I’m not gonna—”

“Stiles.”

“—worry about whether or not you think that it’s perfect because I’m not gonna _not_ kill myself after _that_, because Jesus fucking Christ I have _some_ dignity, and—”

“_Stiles_!”

It was another level of jarring to hear his name being shouted at him from his own _body_. 

Stiles wilted. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to make this uncomfortable. I—I’m so sorry. I’ll just be quiet?”

Derek sighed heavily and Stiles buried his face in his _impressively large hands that absolutely correlated to peni_—

_STOP IT._

_Bad Stiles._

“It’s not like I don’t want to masturbate, either. And I’m sure that, if I could rim myself, I wouldn’t really _stop_ rimming—”

“But you can.”

Derek blinked at him. “_No_, Stiles,” he said, slowly, “I _can’t_ rim myself. Werewolf healing does a lot, but it doesn’t fix broken necks fast enough to—”

“No, you’re in _my body_. You can rim yourself.”

Derek’s eyebrows shot up, and now _there_ was a somewhat Stiles-like face. 

(They hadn’t been able to fool Stiles’ dad for even a minute. Mostly because “Derek” had been almost bouncing off the walls and Stiles had been calm and almost stoic.)

“You’re giving me permission… to use your body… to have the experience of licking my own asshole.”

It wasn’t even a question—Derek always did revert back to All Statements No Question Marks Exist Ever when he got nervous. Or overwhelmed. 

Or upset. 

Stiles had no idea which one this was. 

Honeysuckle was flooding his nose, though, to the point that he was just trying not to sneeze. 

“Did you get flowers?” Stiles asked, standing up from the sofa and sniffing the air. It smelled like a grandma’s perfume. 

But worse, because no grandma would use this _much_. 

“Not exactly,” Derek said. 

“What in the _fuck_ smells like honeysuckle?”

“How do you even know what honeysuckle smells like?”

“I don’t,” Stiles said, “but that’s the scent. Your brain knows it. Your brain knows the _genus_, Lonicera caprifolium. Why do you know what— What? What? Why are you blushing?”

Derek blinked. “Um. That’s. One of your. Um. Scents.”

“My _scents_? I have multiples?”

“This is a… _specific_ scent.”

Stiles racked his brain, trying to think of what the hell Derek meant by that. 

“Your body smells like honeysuckle when some….” Derek coughed and looked away. 

And then it hit him. 

“You’re _aroused!_” And then _that_ clicked. “You know what I smell like when I’m aroused to the point you _memorized the genus of the flower I smell like?_”

“When you put it like that,” Derek said weakly.

“You find me attractive, don’t you!”

“Let’s forget we ever had this conversation.”

“No! No, I find you attractive too! I mean, duh, obviously, I must reek of that twenty-four fucking seven when I’m around you, but dude!”

“Don’t call me dude.”

“You can _totally_ use my body to rim yourself any day.”

Derek stared at him. “Are you making fun of me?”

“No! No, I swear I’m not.” Stiles walked over to the bed—the sorry excuse for a bed, that was—and crouched next to the mattress. “Du—Derek. You have this thing,” he jabbed his nose, probably a little too hard based on the way Derek winced like he could feel it, “and you don’t know how _in love_ I am with you?”

Derek didn’t say anything, and his face just remained in that wince, and Stiles slowly realized that this was not what Derek had probably been hoping for. 

“Um,” Stiles said. “It’s fine if that’s not reciprocated. I get that. Believe me,” he laughed a little, sharp and painful, “I get it. Hell, everybody I’ve ever met would get that, too, honestly, so—”

Derek whined and then he was kissing Stiles, but Stiles was kind of kissing himself, too, which was a fucking _trip_, but it was still _Derek_ and Stiles’ brain wiped itself of everything but Derek who was clawing his way into Stiles’ arms. 

Stiles pulled away, looking into his own eyes, which was strange, but he could finally see Derek in them. It was still Derek, just different-colored eyes. “I’d—” He cleared his throat, pulling back a little to try and get his voice working. “I’d really like to see how it looks. From an outsider’s perspective.”

Derek frowned. “What?”

“I want to watch you eat yourself out. Do you want to—”

“_Yes_,” Derek whimpered, and kissed him again, licking into his mouth with a kind of focused intensity that Stiles had never thought could come from his own body, even though Derek had temporarily commandeered it. 

Stiles pulled back a few minutes later, pressing his forehead to Derek’s. “Can I watch?”

Derek nodded and shuffled back, pulling his shirt off in an outrageously smooth motion that Stiles was immediately envious of, but then Derek was pushing down his sweatpants and Stiles’ brain shorted out. 

“You’re not wearing— I was in the room with you, how did I not notice?”

Derek smiled, a little half-grin that really belonged on Derek’s own face, but almost looked at home on Stiles’. “I think you were busy with other things.”

And then Derek kicked off the sweatpants, looked down at his—_Stiles’_ penis and went, “How do I do this?”

Stiles laughed, the tension broken easily, and stood. “It’s easier to do it up against a wall. I’ll help you.” He walked with Derek over to the wall. “Lie down and put your butt against the wall, legs up straight. You know, I stumbled on this because lying like this is supposed to make you fall asleep easier.”

Derek snorted. “I don’t think you were falling asleep much easier after this.”

“Not really,” Stiles said. “Okay, now let your legs come forward towards your head. They’ll come pretty fast if you aren’t careful, but I won’t let you roundhouse kick yourself in the face.”

“This wouldn’t exactly be a roundhouse kick,” Derek said, but lowered his legs slowly, and the moment they were within a foot of his face, his eyes went wide. “Oh, my god,” he said. “You can suck your own dick.”

“Better,” Stiles said, “I can lick my own ass. Spread your knees to either side and loop your arms through. Okay, and let yourself fall the rest of the way.”

Derek looked like he was focusing pretty damn hard, which was… really not at all conducive to this. 

“No, just let go. Let go of the tension in your abdomen and—there.”

Derek blinked slowly. “Oh, my god.”

“Yeah, you said that already. Come on, I wanna watch. Unless you’re getting second thoughts, or something, because ongoing consent is super important to me and _ohmigod_.”

The breath rushed out of Stiles in one fell swoop as Derek slowly stuck his tongue out and touched it to his own asshole tentatively. 

Stiles grabbed at his dick, palming it before he remembered himself. “Is it— Is it okay if I touch myself? Or—your dick, I guess it’d be.”

“Go for it,” Derek said, muffled a little around his ass, where he was managing to get a near-complete seal on his hole with his lips. 

Stiles groaned as he pulled out Derek’s dick, finally letting himself look at it hard. “Oh, god, your dick’s so pretty. You’re _uncut_.”

Derek laughed breathily. “I figured you’d appreciate that.”

“You—” Stiles grunted, hand speeding up. “You _thought_ about this?”

“Not this exact situation,” Derek said, always the epitome of sass, “but sex with you?”

“I’m not gonna—gonna last long.”

“You think I am?” 

And then Derek sealed his lips around his asshole and _slurped_ so loud that Stiles whimpered and came, not even doing the rapid jerks around the crown of his dick, just—

“Oh, god,” Stiles groaned. “Oh, god.” 

He didn’t take his eyes off of Derek, though, even as his knees buckled—because apparently Derek got a little wobbly post-orgasm, who knew—because Derek was grunting and moaning into his _own goddamn asshole_ and wow, this was a lot hotter than expected. 

And then _Derek_ was coming, and Stiles could see him fucking his tongue in and out of his hole like it—

And Stiles felt kind of… crunched up. 

_What?_

He blinked his eyes blearily open. He was staring at the ceiling—and his own asshole. Except his asshole was a little redder than—

He rolled to the side, limbs disentangling themselves, flailing as he went. 

“We’re back,” Derek said, unnecessarily. 

Stiles blinked and then deflated. “Yeah,” he said. “We’re back. Um. I guess that means there’s not gonna be a repeat, so—”

“Why wouldn’t we do this again?”

“I mean. I don’t have anything to offer other than flexibility, and even _that’s_ self-serving, so maybe—”

“I’m in love with you too, Stiles.”

Stiles’ eyebrows shot up. “You’re _what_? Are you even gay?”

Derek rolled his eyes, tucking himself back into his pants and _god was Stiles sad to see that marvelous piece of man beauty go_. 

Stiles may be a little fucked out. 

“I’m bisexual,” Derek said. “And I’d like to go on a date with you. Unless the whole mutual confessions of love isn’t something you want to pursue.”

“No, no, I want to pursue it! I want to pursue it all the time! Look, I’ll pursue it right now!”

And Stiles marched over, squatted down onto Derek’s lap, and kissed the hell out of him. 

Derek pulled away a few moments later, grinning. “I’m really glad you fucked up at training.”

Stiles cuffed the back of his head and kissed him again. 

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoyed, please consider leaving kudos or a comment. 
> 
> _This work was inspired by @NihilistShiro's Kinktober prompt list, available here: https://twitter.com/NihilistShiro/status/1162794889970511872 _


End file.
